I Just Wanted to See You Smile
by White Fedora
Summary: Puerto Rico has been with America for a little over one hundred years, and it's amazing how close they've grown in that short a time. But things change, disasters happen, and fake smiles are all you can give. Puerto Rico has given everything he has to see his big brother smile for real, one last time, and it's all here in America's inbox. WARNING! OC/OC Death.


** I was in an angsty mood and thinking about the RP I'm involved in. Well, a character I play is Puerto Rico and he's America's little brother. He has a knack for getting into trouble and he pulls a lot of pranks on everyone, and...well. I'm not sure what made me compelled to write this. All I know is I feel very...happy, after writing it.****  
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**Warning: OC/OC Death  
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**Enjoy~  
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_From: __skateboardlordPR at alittlenationalpride . org _

_ Subject: I Just Wanted to See You Smile_

**Date Sent: 12/10/2015**

**Date Received: 12/14/2015**

Dear America,

I'm not sure if this is what you were expecting from me, but...an e-mail is all I trust myself to send. If I call, I might hang up. If I text, I might delete it. If I send you a letter, well...who sends letters any more? But I wanted to communicate with you before things got too out of control for me to find any room to write an e-mail.

There's so much I want to say. But where do I start? ...I guess the beginning's a good a place as any, right? Those first couple decades after Spain sold me...I admit it, I absolutely hated you. I know, I know that's a horrible way to say it, but...it's the truth. I hadn't seen it coming, I realize, and when I heard I was being sold to the man who had been fighting with my _hermano _for so many years I...well I didn't know what to think. I had seen you hurt Spain with my own eyes and I couldn't trust you. I wanted Spain so much, and the fact that I couldn't see him made me so frustrated that...that I guess I needed someone to blame. The only other person I _could _blame was you.

But you were patient with me. You gave me my space when I wanted it, and you never said no when I wanted to get a bit closer to you. Do you remember those nights – especially during your worst storms – when I sometimes snuck into bed with you? Sorry if that ever weirded you out, but...it was what I had done with Toni when I got scared. What really surprises me is that you never said no. I knew you woke up, I could feel and hear you, but you never pushed me away like I had thought you would. It took maybe twenty or thirty years, but you were starting to warm up to me. About time, huh? But I think a weird irony was that as I warmed up to you, I seemed to hate Spain more and more.

I'm not sure why I hated Antonio the way I did, but I did. Did I hate him for selling me? Or...well, did I hate him for his indifference? Since the Treaty, I hadn't heard squat from him, so I wasn't sure what he was thinking. I started worrying that he had stopped caring about me, stopped loving me, so I think I hated him for that. The transition from one brother to another is difficult, and there were times when I got stuck between who I hated more: you, or Antonio. Think of it as...black and white, kind of. You were the black and Antonio was the white, and I was caught in between, in the gray sometimes. Those moments in between were some of the loneliest and most terrifying moments of my life. We may be immortals, but we still suffer from human fears like fear of being abandoned, fear of being forgotten...

...Fear of being alone.

The war only made it worse. After you declared war on Germany and left to fight, I was...well, I was alone. The house was empty without you there, and I realized that I was still hurting from the Spanish-American War only about twenty to thirty years before. It was the same thing, really. Spain had left to fight you, and I was left at home with Lovino (not the best company, I should tell you. I get the feeling he hates me) until those sporadic days when Spain came home, clothes torn, eyes tired, and looking more and more beaten every time he returned. I started lining up the two wars, WWI and the Spanish-American War, until they were running a parallel loop in my mind. How long would it be until I was brought back to the warfront, the money was being handed over my head, and I was going home with another complete stranger?

But it was strange, because while I didn't want to go through the pain of being sold again...I didn't want to lose you. You had become more than just the person who owned me, you had become my big brother in those few years we had known each other. I found myself looking forward to the times when you would come home. You were just as beaten up as Spain had been, but you still laughed and smiled and joked around with me when I dared myself to ask. I don't know when the animosity faded, but it faded, and those days we spent together in-between life-threatening battles were some of the best days of our lives.

When the war was over, you had changed a bit. You were more determined than ever to be the hero for everyone, but I liked that. You also seemed just a little bit more realistic, or maybe I was just growing up. Do you remember? I was growing up quickly during and after WWI, and even more during and after WWII. Don't you just love how spastic a nation's aging process is? Before the war, I was...what, maybe eight human years? At the start of WWII, I was about eleven.

During WWII, I really didn't care if you brought the Allies with you for some secret meeting, or you had an Axis prisoner that had to be interrogated, or you were in another fight with England...I just didn't care, because you were back home. And it was at times like this that yes, your house was truly my home. What made it better was that you were just as happy to see me too. You dropped whatever it was you were doing to pick me up, clap me on the back, ruffle my hair (which I _so _hated at the time), and just in all, you were glad to see me too. I'm not even sure anymore when the animosity faded, but it faded. Those years of war breaking into our time together were rough, yes, but I powered through them because I was looking forward to seeing your smile again. It was always there. No matter how bad things looked, no matter how many cuts, bruises, or torn up clothes you brought home, you were always smiling, and saying it was all in a day's work for the hero.

At the end of WWII, I was twelve, going on thirteen, and life was...well...spastic. We only had about two years to spend with each other, catching up on all the time we lost during the war, but y'know...when you're immortal two years fly by so fast it's like we didn't have any time at all. You were getting into so much stuff back then, remember? Over the course of the Cold War you had also been dealing with maybe...three wars and three fights during that time? It always amazed me how you could keep so much on your plate and still be the hero. Those forty-four years you spent hopping in between wars and meetings and battlefronts I watched from afar and kept cheering you on. It frustrated me so much because I was – am – so small that I couldn't help you without getting in the way. And I knew this, so it only frustrated me more. When everything was over and we had ten years to ourselves, we caught up on everything we had missed.

I don't even know where you got the time for it, but you got me one of the very first skateboards they had ever built in the 1950s. What's more is you taught me how to ride. Most big brothers taught their little brothers how to ride bikes or something but no, no you said that the hero's sidekick needs a better ride than a bike, so that's where the skateboard came in. You taught me how to ride, picking me up every time I fell down and helping me to get back on board (no pun intended) every time I just wanted to quit. We went out to beaches and you gave me a tour of your whole country, taking me to all fifty of your houses and showing me the sites. We acted like such tourists! Taking goofy pictures of us standing in front of Lady Liberty, but in the right position that we looked like we were leaning on her? Buying t-shirts, snowglobes, keychains (whatever happened to those, anyways?) I even remember that one time you took me to a comic book convention in California, um...Comic-Con, right? I can see why you loved it so much. Everywhere you looked, you saw nerds, superheroes, and the people who wrote and drew those comic books you adore so much. You were right at home, weren't you?

Well, after Comic-Con we took a tour of all of the "-Cons" in America, MetroCon, WonderCon, all kinds of "-Cons" until we could quite proudly say we had visited every single convention there was. It's amazing what you can get done in ten years, huh? That decade was so much fun. I still have the pictures, you know. They're hanging out on my hard drive somewhere, little idiots (wanted to say something else here).

But I guess all good things have to come to an end, huh America? In 2001, life seemed to just crumble and collapse all around us in one fell swoop.

Why do people hurt people? Why do nations hurt nations? Why is peace so unattainable, why are people so violent that they would try so hard to annihilate a symbol of hope and unity in fire and destruction? 9/11 was the birthplace of all of these questions...yet all of them remain unanswered.

I remember it so clearly. We were hanging out in a mall in California, pestering the shopkeepers and goofing around in the food court when you suddenly collapsed, a hand to your heart. I realized something was wrong and I looked around, trying to see if anyone noticed but they hadn't. You were breathing really hard and you were in a lot of pain, but everyone was watching the news.

The Twin Towers had been bombed.

Once those six words had been announced, you got up, even though you knew, and I knew, that you shouldn't have, and you bolted for a door. I ran after you as fast as I could and we took your jet to New York. The fire was still being put out, and the sky was still black...and I had never seen you look so scared. We went to the site of the bombing and you told me to stay put while you went in and started digging with the firemen, another faceless volunteer in the eyes of these grieving, smoke-stained people. I could hear crying, screaming, groaning and all manner of horrible sounds around me but all I could focus on was you. You were crying too. There was no smile anymore. Texas fell off and became lost in the rubble, undoubtedly smashed by a falling stone. I wanted to help, so I went to help them move the survivors into the team of ambulances standing by.

There were more ambulances than survivors.

I remember helping you to a nearby hotel that day. We both had other peoples' blood on our hands, our clothes were stained with soot, and I had never seen you cry so much as you had on that one day. I had cried too. It hurt so much because I was watching you in pain, but I couldn't do anything to help you. It was like you were in a room made of glass, and I was on the outside, able to look in but I couldn't reach out and touch you, and tell you that I was there. You stayed in that glass room for so long, years after 9/11. It melted over time, but when you would finally look at me, your smile was gone.

I had never seen you so sad before. It made me sad too, but I couldn't and wouldn't pretend to understand how you felt. You tried to save face, to tell everyone you were still the hero, but that day changed you. The smiles you gave were fake, and I could tell because I'm your brother. Canada noticed it too, but he never said anything about it. It hurt us both to see you in so much pain, but America...I have something to tell you. Something I should have told you years ago.

_**It wasn't your fault. Bold, underlined, and italicized to prove my point.**_

**It was never your fault. They died noble deaths, just as noble as any soldier who's ever lived. You did what you could to protect them, but there are some thigns that a nation just can't protect his people from. **

** You can't protect a little boy who's being bullied by a bigger kid at school, right? You can yell at their parents, protest against the school, and all of that but you can't stop the bully. You can only give the kid what they need to protect themselves, and pray they use it for good.**

** Well...this was like that. You did everything that you could, but in the end...the bully was just stronger. **

But instead of saying this like I should have, instead I resorted to pranks. You know me, I get an idea and I can't put it down. You had always loved pulling pranks and making jokes, so I thought that it would cheer you up. Boy, was I wrong. Eventually a few harmless buckets of water or feather pillows on the doors in the house grew into me flat out pestering the other nations. Eventually it got to the point of everyone pretty much hating me. I was getting desperate, you know.

I tried taking you to Comic-Con again. You tried to enjoy yourself but your heart wasn't in it. I tried taking you all over your country, visiting our old haunts, just trying to see a real smile on your face. There never was one, no matter what I tried. I felt like I was losing you, and no matter how tightly I held on, you kept getting away.

Eventually, I settled for the false laughter and empty words that seemed to come with you now. They were better than nothing, I supposed. At least you would still talk to us. I kept on with the pranks because by then, they were amusing to me even though they were incredibly annoying to everyone else. I skateboarded alone a lot too because you were out with your own friends and your own life then. I was happier then, because you seemed to be moving on.

But I was wrong. Right when things seemed to be looking up...they all went downhill.

Your war path seemed to pick up again as you got into fights with Iran and the Middle Eastern-countries, tearing up your economy, electing presidents that had no idea what they were saying, until it looked like you were at your wits' end trying to make ends meet. You became so enthralled with your work that I often stayed at my own house to keep out of your way, and months would pass before we had any kind of communication. But I watched everything on the news. One disaster after another. It was like watching dominoes in slow motion.

Your debts becoming way too much to manage.

Your presidents having nervous breakdowns on live TV.

Their Acts, Plans, and Appeals having nothing but negative effects on everybody.

A second civil war seemed to be ready to unleash at the drop of a hat.

Every single day, more jobs were erased and people wound up on the streets, and buildings and houses torn down because they generated jobs and not as many people needed them.

Citizens fleeing to seek their fortunes elsewhere.

It was like time had done a complete backflip, and all I could do was watch as the brother I had come to know, love, and trust seemed to collapse before my eyes.

You never smiled.

You never laughed.

You never tried to be anyone's hero anymore.

It was like you had died but no grave was dug.

I had to do something to help, but what could I do? A small island country off the coast of Florida with nations kicking down my door every couple months? What could Puerto Rico accomplish?

Well. I started with the money. I siphoned my country's funds into your own to help you pay off your debt to China and the others, and I had my boss and your boss meet to discuss ways to open up more jobs in both of our lands. I encouraged trading with the countries who were more sympathetic with us, like Spain for example (we had made up at some point in 2010) at a lower price than was normal, just to get things moving again. But I think I was too late...or maybe I had done just enough. Maybe I had given the boulder the smallest push it needed to roll down the hill.

I saw you pick yourself back up. You looked healthier and happier than I'd seen you in years, and I think I managed to help you onto your feet just a bit. Or maybe I hadn't done a thing, and it was just a "darkest before the dawn" type of event. Whatever it was, you seemed to radiate more happiness, even though you still couldn't smile as sincerely as you had. It was understandable. After years of depression, you don't trust good fortune as easily as you would have, but you were happier, so I was happy as well, even though I knew I had to suffer for the choices I made.

I was without money.

The trades were turning sour.

The jobs were filling up faster than we'd realized, and other people were losing theirs.

I fell into a depression of my own. But it was a strange kind of depression, because I had known that, with the choices I made, I would suffer. So it was something I could suffer through with my head held high, knowing it was for a good cause. You've done so much for me, that I had to help you in any way that I could.

Things continued to get better for you, and I couldn't have been happier. I, of course, grew weaker as the days dragged on, my land slowly dying from my choices...but I took responsibility for my actions. I am content with the choices I'd made, even though that I believe...I may have taken on too much responsibility.

I believe my depression has reached its zenith, with the onslaught of hurricanes we've had lately. We haven't had the money to rebuild the dunes, so my boss has been organizing daily evacuations to get everyone out. I won't leave. I like to think of myself as the captain of a ship: I go down with it. Which is why I couldn't have called; the phone lines are dead. I couldn't have written, because the mailmen are all gone.

So I'm sitting in my house at the desk I never use, listening to the storm outside as I type. My hands are becoming semi-transparent as my land is being washed out to sea but before I leave, there are some things I want to say and favors I have to ask of you.

America, stop bugging England so much. Just tell him you still care about him and get on with life, alright?

Tell Spain that I always loved him, and that he'll always be my big brother too.

Tell Romano that even though he hated me, I never hated him back.

Tell Russia that he needs to relax and visit somewhere like the Netherlands, or...oh, I know! Take him to Alabama. Somewhere with a lot of sunflowers. He needs a vacation.

I never liked Marvel comics so much. DC's where it's at.

Tell Japan I love his games, and he needs to stop hogging all the good ones for himself!

Tell Brazil I'm going to have to reschedule our futbol game.

And America...there's something else I have to tell you. You're my big brother, my best friend, a teddy bear in so many ways, you're my secret keeper, my playmate, my teacher, and my hero all rolled into one. You've had to carry so many roles, fight in so many places, yet you always found time for me, and that means a lot. I love you big bro, and you have to promise me that my fading away won't stop you from being the hero of all of my people, and all of the people of the world who need you.

You have to promise me, okay? And who knows...maybe one day, years from now, we'll meet again, and you can teach me all you know about skateboarding, and I'll tell you all my secrets to pranking, and we'll find another mall to play tourist in. It'll be fun, you'll see.

Oh, and...before I go, I know you're going to ask me why. Why I did all of this, why I cared so much, and why I killed myself to help you.

Well. That reason is the same reason that I pestered everyone so much with my pranks and jokes. The same reason that I tried playing tourist with you everywhere. The same reason that I dug out my pictures, put them in a photo album, and sent it to your house a few days ago. You should be getting it soon. It's the same reason for everything I've done in all of the decades we've known each other, no matter how annoying, maddening, or just plain random whatever it was I did was.

I just wanted to see you smile.

**Love with all my heart,**

**Puerto Rico, a.k.a. Javier Jones**


End file.
